


Shouldn’t Have Taken the Night Shift

by thrillingtremors



Category: Dead By Daylight
Genre: Danny Johnson is NOT a nice guy, Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson | The Ghostface is a dick, F/M, Reader is fed up with life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-06
Updated: 2019-12-06
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:28:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21689890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thrillingtremors/pseuds/thrillingtremors
Summary: What if a survivor had come with Ghostface to the Entity’s realm?You were just working the night shift to cover for your friend. You didn’t expect to be confronted with a murderer, let alone to be dragged off into some fog, to an unending hell. Of course, with said murderer.
Relationships: Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/You, Danny “Jed Olsen” Johnson | The Ghost Face/Reader, Ghostface/reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 182





	Shouldn’t Have Taken the Night Shift

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Mentions of rape but no explicit details or scenes. Don’t read please if you’re uncomfortable! Take care of yourselves guys. Anyway, as usual I’m making Danny a huge dick who picks on the reader. :) enjoy!~

| "HEY, CAN YOU CLOSE UP WITH ANTHONY FOR ME?" 

You looked over at your coworker, Linda. She was a nice woman. She clearly had a bit of plastic surgery done that went just a little wrong, from the misshapen structure of her nose and the uneven placing of her boobs. But you weren't going to judge her. You felt bad for her. She'd probably paid good money for the surgery and had ended up looking worse than before. That had to have sucked. She always went easy on you with the work loads, too, covering for you when you needed her, like when your dog got hit by a car one evening. 

You really owed her a lot, so you decided you could do her a solid. It didn't matter why Linda needed you to cover her shift. It might be a family emergency, it might be because she wasn't feeling well, or could be because she had a date. Nonetheless, you'd take the fall for her. "Of course." You smiled at Linda, and she smiled back. "Thanks. You're a lifesaver!" Linda hugged you briefly, and then went to go clock out. That could've been you, but you weren't a jerk. You'd stick it through for her. Besides, it really wouldn't even be half bad. 

Anthony was a nice guy. He was short, bald with a beard and dark eyes. He had a wife and two kids who'd already graduated high school. He was only working for extra money, since he had enough saved to live an easy rest of his life. He was only in his mid-forties, but already had his children out of the house and his life made. You secretly envied him, but also respected him. He knew how to invest his savings and how to spend his money, so good for him. Besides, he sometimes bought everyone doughnuts or pizza, and he told funny jokes. He was kind of a prankster, but that was only on holidays or on his really good days. 

You had never really worked during the night before. You always left at six, right on the mark. You were never around for when the sun began to set, and for when darkness settled over the small grocery store. It was on the outskirts of a small town, for passerby and the locals alike. Mountains overlooked the area in the distance, with thick trees and forest glimmering on all sides in a starry sky. Night came much earlier since winter was nearing. Not like you minded, but the cold was a little sudden. You'd have to start wearing coats soon, you remarked to yourself. It was a coin flip on whether or not it’d be freezing or sweltering. You lived in Florida, so it was typically hot, but towards the end of the year the nights got pretty cold. No one entered the store after Linda had left. It was empty.

Or so you thought. 

You didn't realize that one man from hours earlier, at the very start of the day, was still there. Hiding in the aisles, stalking you and your friends. You and Anthony believed you'd already checked everyone out, so now, you were free to mess around. You went over to his cash register and asked to play a game with him. He always brought his Nintendo switch to work with him, specifically for occasions like this. He smiled, pulling it out, and he handed you a controller. You two began playing some Mario-centered game, blissfully unaware of the shroud watching you. "I beat you!" You cheered after a few minutes. "Victory is mine!" 

Anthony rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. "Uh huh. So what do you want as your prize?" He asked, probably expecting you to say your usual response: food from the vending machine. This time, however, you replied with something new. "If a customer approaches, you have to ring their stuff up." You grinned deviously, and Anthony groaned. "Okay, fine," he agreed. This actually worked out really well for him, since he doubted anyone would show up since it was getting late, and the store was really reclusive. You hummed to yourself. You had your own doubts, but just in case — you wanted to avoid social interaction with any strangers. You were tired out from doing it all day, you wanted a break. 

Suddenly, you heard what sounded like a can falling from down one of the aisles. You and Anthony both tensed, exchanging a look. "No way this place is fucking haunted," you said timidly. "No fucking way." Anthony took a deep breath. "It was probably just the wind, or a loose can that fell after a while," he assured you. "But — one two three not it!" Anthony said it in quick succession, leaving you with no room to even try and retaliate. "Hey! Unfair!" You cried. Anthony pointed a finger at you. "I won fair and square, now go check out the noise." 

"Screw you. If I die, I'm so haunting you." You got up, dusting imaginary dirt off of your jeans. You fiddled with your apron, twirling your name tag around nervously. Hesitantly, you began walking through the dimly-lit aisles. Had the lights gotten lower and darker? Maybe the power was just bugging out a bit, it wouldn't have been the first time that happened. You approached the aisle where the noise had come from, feeling your heartbeat quickening. You bent down, picking up the can. It was out in the middle of the aisle, and you felt a strange sensation that you were being watched. All of your nerves were on end. 

You hastily put the can back in its proper place, and stood up. Just as you were about to turn around and return to Anthony's side up front, you heard footsteps. You froze, your eyes widening with fear. There was no one supposed to be here. Unless you both were just idiots and had somehow forgotten someone. You wouldn't be surprised. You, for some reason, pressed yourself against the shelves like you were trying to hide. Your heart was racing even faster, now, and though you knew it was against store policy you snuck away as quietly as possible from the sound of the footsteps. Customer be damned. That was weird.

And you didn't fuck with weird shit. 

You decided to let Anthony handle that creeper, just like you'd said he'd have to if a customer appeared. Good thing you'd made that arrangement. You didn't know why, but you hung around in the back for a while. You felt safer away from the footsteps. A strange feeling washed over you. Your chest tightened. Was that . . . Worry? You were worried for Anthony. Why? Perhaps you afraid that person might try to rob you all. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, and wiped sweat off of your forehead. It suddenly felt too hot, far too hot in here considering winter was near. You felt a wave of dizziness sweep over you.

Taking a deep breath, you straightened up and wrung your hands together. Get a grip, you told yourself firmly. You walked back towards the front of the store, and heard the familiar sound of footsteps. You froze, and peeked out from around the aisle. In front of you was a man, dressed in a dark leather outfit with tassels hanging down by his feet, which were clothed in rugged combat boots. He wore gloves, and pushed a shopping cart around cheerily. Inside it were some items. You squinted, and your heart fell at what you saw. A hunting knife, some rope, and duct tape. You scurried away. You had to go call the police! 

Normally you wouldn’t be freaking out like this, but the man had been wearing a mask. A white, ghostly thing that had a black mouth parted into a ghastly scream. No one sane would wander into a rural grocery store and wear such attire, and buy such crude items. You went to the back, the employee’s only room, and went straight towards the phone. You picked it up, only to freeze. The lines were all cut. Tears swelled up into your eyes. This man had been planning something for a while. He had malicious intent, you could feel it in your gut! And Anthony was up there alone with him. With trembling fingers, you put the phone back. Your only option was to take off running through one of the exits, and find some help.

You willed your feet to move, and scrambled out of the room. You ran towards the back exit, but when you tried opening the doors, you found them to be tied shut with rope and duct tape. You’d need something sharp to rip apart the tape, and you’d also need quite a few minutes to untie the careful knotting. You didn’t have that much time. Your palms grew slick with sweat. You began to panic, glancing over your shoulder anxiously. What did this person want with you two? You were just minimum wage workers! You did nothing wrong! 

Just then, you heard something that made you cover your mouth in horror. It was Anthony, and he was screaming. He sounded terrified, and tears freely spilled down your cheeks. What could have happened to him? Nothing good. Oh God, you had to try and help him!

But not without taking some precautions first. You needed to be prepared. You snuck off towards the hunting section of the store, where that strange criminal had gotten his equipment from. You grabbed a knife. You’d have preferred a gun, but they were locked up in their cases, and only the store manager had the key. So the knife would have to settle. You tore open the package hastily. Your manager would have to forgive you, this was a life-or-death situation. And if you got fired for just trying to survive, then fuck this store. You were probably going to quit after this incident, anyway. You didn’t feel comfortable here anymore. You crept forward, and remembered your manager kept a secret gun somewhere. 

It was for this exact situation, and the manager had given every worker the passcode to the safe he kept the gun in. It was located in his office. You ran as quietly as you could towards the room, slipping inside and rifling around to find the safe. You checked underneath his desk, in drawers, and finally found it tucked away in the corner of the room, underneath some hanging coats. However, there was a problem. The lock closing the safe was broken and the gun was missing. That could only mean one thing: that psycho out there had it. You buried your head in your hands. How were you supposed to save Anthony, now? You couldn’t. Bringing a knife to a gun fight would never work, unless you could somehow ambush the man, but he seemed too keen and alert to fall for any of your tricks. He was always a step ahead of everyone around him. The gun, the doors, the phones — you gulped.

This guy was clearly experienced with whatever he did, which was most definitely either robbery or murder. Or both. You gripped the hunting knife tightly in your hands, and slowly crept towards the front of the store. You still had to check the front doors. You knew he couldn’t have secured those yet without you and Anthony noticing him. He was probably doing that now, trying to trap you guys inside. If you could stop him, you could be free. But some part of you was cautious. This whole thing could very well just be an elaborate trap. 

Yet you had to help Anthony. You wouldn’t be able to live with yourself, even if you got out of the situation, if you didn’t at least attempt to save Anthony. The guilt would eat you alive, and you weren’t planning on having a guilty conscience for the rest of your life. You were so young. You had your whole life ahead of you. To die, working the night-shift you took for your friend, was ridiculous. You couldn’t let that happen. No, scratch that. You wouldn’t let that happen. Straightening up your posture, you slunk sneakily towards where Anthony was.

When you finally caught sight of the registers, your eyes widened in horror and you let out a gasp. Anthony was slumped over at his station, and before you could think of being careful or hiding, you ran forward to help him. “Anthony! Are you okay?” Your voice was agitated and filled with concern, but as you stopped in front of him, you realized — Anthony was far from okay. He had a knife lodged in his back, blood pouring down his spine, staining his white uniform. His eyes were glossed over and foggy, and his mouth was parted in a silent scream. It didn’t take a genius or a doctor to figure out that he was dead. 

You tugged at your hair, the knife trembling in your grip. “No,” you whimpered. You backed away, sniffling as tears slid down your cheeks. You’d just seen one of your friends dead right in front of you, and you knew you’d never be the same again. You choked on a sob, and brought the knife up in front of you, like you could defend yourself if need be. You kept backing up until you froze. You’d bumped into something solid — no. Someone solid . . . Your head whipped around in terror, and that ghostly mask stared eerily back down at you. 

The man lifted his bloodied, gloved hand up and waved. You screamed, lashing out in terror. The man raised his arm up just in time, the knife slashing across his elbow. You heard him grunt and then turned, fleeing from him with your now bloody knife clutched in your hands. Like you suspected, the front doors were now bound and locked. But the windows weren’t. You ran towards them, bringing your foot up and kicking at the glass with as much force as you could. The windows began shattering — just as strong arms yanked you back. 

You’d been so close! You screamed again, kicking and thrashing, giving as much of a fight as you possibly could. You flung the knife around wildly, desperately trying to connect with flesh. You were aiming to kill, and you wouldn’t have a guilty conscience if you succeeded. This was self-defense, but most importantly, this was revenge! “You bastard,” you cried. “You killed him! What did we ever do to you?!” Tears blurred your vision, and through your fear and anger you felt a deep sadness. What did either of you do to deserve such torment?

“You did nothing.” The voice was low, cold and almost robotic-sounding. “But be easy targets.” You could imagine him smiling behind that mask, and just as he yanked the knife from your quivering hands, you punched him in the face. His head jerked back, and he growled with fury. You took the chance to then knee him in his balls, and he groaned. “You bitch!” He sounded wild with anger. “Oh, you’re going to fucking get it, you fucking whore!” You weren’t listening to him — for you had already started running towards the windows. 

Instead of trying to kick them in, you just jumped through them with full force. Glass exploded and fell down around you, and you made sure your eyes were squeezed shut. The glass cut your skin and made you cry out with pain. Blood rolled down your exposed arms, and there were multiple cuts on your cheeks and forehead, but you were alive. You got up, stumbling slightly, and wiped red from your eyes. You picked up a particularly large shard of glass from off the ground, and took off running. If you cut through the woods, you had the chance of losing your attacker, and could also reach the town faster. There, you’d be safe. 

“You can run, but you can’t hide!” The murderer was stepping through the window, probably fueled by your attempts to escape. You didn’t listen to him, running as fast as you could into the forest. Darkness quickly swallowed you up as soon as you entered, and you shoved past branches and foliage. Tired pants spilled past your dry lips as you ran. Your side was killing you. You reflected that you should’ve worked out more. Having better stamina would’ve definitely helped in these circumstances. But then again, you never expected to be chased by a murderer in the middle of nowhere. Who would ever think they’d have to endure that?

You leaped over some tree roots, nearly falling but catching yourself just in time. If you kept running like this, he’d follow your trail effortlessly and you’d be doomed. You tried to make your tracks more confusing, swerving around and then making leaves and branches part one way, before choosing to go the other. You crouched down, beginning to crawl away. Just in time, you heard his footsteps and his angry, frenzied breathing. “Come out, come out wherever you are!” His sing-song, taunting voice called out. “I only want to play with you!” Play with me? You thought incredulously. You’d rather not participate in any sick game of his.

You held your breath as you kept crawling away, sticking as low to the ground as possible. You felt like a worm, but that didn’t matter. This was survival. You dragged yourself into the cover of some bushes, wishing your uniform wasn’t so bright. The murderer seemed to know you were close by, because he wouldn’t leave the area. He was like a hound, and it seemed like he could smell you as he kept patrolling the area, calling out wildly for you. “Come on, don’t you want to play with me?” He demanded. “If you win, then I’ll let you go.” 

Bullshit, you thought scathingly. You highly doubted this man would spare you. This was probably just an elaborate scheme to get you to reveal yourself, so he could then gut you like a fish. No, thanks, you would sit that game out. You inched forward, bit by bit, and tried formulating an escape plan. If you could get out of his sight and climb a tree high enough, he’d never knew where you went. The leaves should hide you, unless he had super vision and decided to look up constantly. That was your safest bet. And if he tried climbing up to get you, you’d stab him with the glass shard and push him down. Hopefully he’d die from the fall. You shook your head. Such morbid thoughts weren’t healthy, but you couldn’t help it. 

“Fine.” All of a sudden, the footsteps got really close to you, and you panicked. Your muscles tensed, and you got ready to jump up and run. You felt a presence beside you, and froze, keeping as still as possible. Suddenly, a hand reached out lightning-fast, and wrapped around your ankle. “Got you,” the man cooed, and you screamed. You cried out as he tugged you closer to him, his knife clutched tightly in his hands. He raised it above you, pulling you closer to meet his blade. In a frantic movement, you whipped out the glass shard and lunged forward, stabbing it deep into his shoulder. He grunted, faltering and backing up from you. 

He let out an annoyed sigh, which would have sounded hot, but — it was from a murderer, and the man trying to kill you. So you thought it seemed disgusting. While he was busy tugging out the glass from his shoulder, you ran away. “Come back here, bitch!” He was running after you, and the tears poured more rapidly down your cheeks. You sniffled, and just when you went to try and climb a tree, you tripped. You let out an exclamation of pain, collapsing to the floor. You’d twisted your ankle. You felt horrible. You’d tripped, just like any basic girl in any basic horror movie. You raised your arms defensively in front of you as your attacker arrived, staring down at the pitiful sight of you. “Well would you look at that,” he sneered. As you listened to him closer, you realized his voice sounded a bit . . . Familiar—

“Do I know you?” You blurted out without thinking. You had to know the answer. It would bother you to your grave if you didn’t figure this out. The killer tilted his head, as if amused, and then his whole attitude switched. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, miss,” he said in a cheerful, higher and brighter pitched voice. It sounded completely different from the one he’d been using before! Did this dude have multiple personalities or something? But more importantly, as soon as you heard his voice, or this voice, you recognized him. You trembled. 

“Jed Olsen?” 

“The one and only!”

You felt dizzy, and incredibly nauseous. Jed Olsen was the famous reporter for the Roseville Gazette. Roseville was the local town just a bit away from the store you worked at. Murders had started happening, one by one, all committed by — this person. What did they call him again? You’d completely forgotten, until something clicked. They named him the Ghostface. He apparently relentlessly stalked his victims before ruthlessly killing them. And no one suspected Jed until he’d packed up his stuff and left town. They’d found him out far too late.

You’d seen his picture on the news. Light, almost bleach, blonde hair, tan skin, and brilliant blue eyes. It’d been a few weeks since everyone had gone crazy over Jed — it’d been a few weeks since he’d skipped town. But he was back. As if to say a final ‘fuck you’ by killing two innocent employees. You’d never met Jed personally, but had heard him talking on the radio a few times. Your hands trembled, and you swallowed down bile. To think you’d be one of his victims. Would they even be able to find your body, out here in these desolate woods? 

“I thought you’d left,” you whispered. Jed shrugged. “Never. I’ll haunt this place forever.” You could tell he was grinning behind that mask of his. He shoved you down when you made to run, terrified of him and his cryptic sayings. He pulled out a camera, and there was a click and a flash before your eyes. You knew he was taking a picture of your horrified, tear-stained face to parade around to the police. To rub salt into the already-open wound. He was still out there, he always would be, and he was taking more people down with him. And one of those people would be you. You sniffled, cowering in fear, as he lifted his knife up. “This will only hurt for a minute,” he cooed almost lovingly, like he was just ripping a bandaid off of you instead of brutally murdering you. You flinched, trying to squirm away. 

You couldn’t prevent the knife from plunging into your side, and you screamed, choking on your own sobs of pain. It hurt like hell. It felt like someone was ripping you open, far worse than period pains or anything else you’d ever experienced. The sounds escaping you were animalistic and wild with agony. “Should’ve played my game,” Jed taunted. “Now you’re dead. Such a shame.” You glared up at him, a fiery look in your blurry gaze. “Like you’d have let me live, anyway,” you spat, and Jed shrugged. “Good point,” he said, his voice cheerful. 

You blocked his next stab with your arm, and you screamed, gagging as blood spurted freely from the wound. You groaned, thrashing as much as you could. Though your desperate movements were causing you to lose blood quicker, and you could see your surroundings spinning around you. So this was it. You wanted to kick and scream. It wasn’t fucking fair. He yanked the knife from your arm, and while you were sobbing, took a picture of you. You knew it’d be circulating around the town for years to come. You wished you could kill him. 

“You know, if you would’ve cooperated . . .” Jed bent down, whispering in your ear. “I might have treated you a little nicer.” His hand suddenly groped your thigh, making your body chill. If he was implying what you thought he was, you were glad you didn’t pick to play his stupid game. You didn’t want to be raped, especially by your could-be (probably) murderer. “Go to hell,” you coughed, spitting blood onto his mask. Jed wiped it off, unbothered. “I’m already there,” he hissed back, and you scowled. Oh, sure, like this was hell for him, not you.

He brought the knife up again, and with shaking hands, you leaned forward and pulled off his mask. You wanted to expose him. Wanted to make him feel vulnerable, just like you. You wanted to look into his eyes as you died, and keep them in mind even in the afterlife. So if you ever saw them again, you could bring hell upon Jed Olsen. You would haunt him forever, just like he would haunt all the towns he desecrated and the families he’d ruined. You would become a ghost, but this bastard was already a ghost. You gurgled, coughing up blood. You spat it away, feeling a warm wetness trailing down your jaw. So internal bleeding, probably. 

Staring up at Jed’s unmasked face, instead of his short blonde haircut he had shaggier, darker hair with bangs that fell into his face. He was paler, and instead of bright blue eyes he had dark brown ones. Almost pitch black, like his soul. He scowled at him. He wasn’t ugly, definitely not, but his personality made him hideous. “You’ll never get away with this,” you whimpered. “I think I already have,” Jed taunted. “No one will notice you even went missing.” Jed tilted his knife at your chest, now. “Poor (Y/N) (L/N). Living all on her own in an apartment in Roseville, working a minimum wage job and slaving away at a hair salon part-time for extra money. Babysitting random kids if you can. Anything to get by, hm? Poor, poor little (Y/N), killed by the big bad wolf.” Jed chuckled, and you felt horrified. 

He really did stalk his victims. 

Just as he went to slit your throat, a pitch black fog rolled in. You whined, feeling it wrap around both of you. It was so thick, you could practically touch it. You felt a strange feeling, like falling, overcome you. Your eyes forcibly slipped shut, and you felt yourself spiraling. 

┅┅┅┅┅┅┅🌙┅┅┅┅┅┅┅

When you woke up, you groaned. The pain in your stomach and arm was all gone. Your eyes fluttered open groggily, and you were met with the flickering flames of a campfire. Curious, you sat up. Had someone rescued you? You looked down at your arm. A nasty, healed-over scar stared back at you. How was that possible? It looked like it’d been there for ages, but you’d been attacked barely moments ago — or it had felt like moments ago. You swallowed.

Am I dead? You wondered, and when your gaze slowly swept around your surroundings, you blanched. There were multiple curious faces staring at you. Some looked intrigued, others looked sad and even pitiful. Was this your rescue party? You felt inclined to thank them all. 

You sat up with a wince, coughing. You expected blood to come up, but nothing wet and damp poured from your mouth. You shivered, still remembering the horrible feeling. Whatever had happened, you were alive. You owed someone a thank you. “Thank . . . Thank you.” You smiled around at your newfound companions, and their looks shifted to complete confusion. Some even looked concerned, like they thought you were totally crazy. 

“What the hell are you thanking us for, kid?” An old man with a cigarette hanging from his mouth asked incredulously. He looked at you like you’d gone off the deep end. You faltered, your brow furrowing. “For saving me,” you explained. It was unsettlingly quiet. “From what?” A girl with red hair tied into a braid demanded. She looked at you, frowning deeply.

“Or from who?” A girl with curly blonde hair and a tattoo on her arm added. 

“From him. The Ghostface,” you explained. Hadn’t they seen him all over the news? You knew you tended to live under a rock, but you weren’t that in the dark like these people seemed to be. You began to grow uneasy. Were you truly safe, here? You felt yourself gulp. 

“Kid, we didn’t save you from jack shit. And chances are if you’re here, then he’s here, too. This is the Entity’s realm. There is no saving, here. You’re trapped, just like all of us.” The old man exhaled smoke, and you froze, feeling horrified. What the hell was he saying . . . ?

Some people began scolding him for being so brash and harsh with you. A kind looking girl with dark hair and glasses began trying to explain this ‘realm’ and the ‘rules’ to you, but you weren’t focusing. That man had said the Ghostface was here, too. And that you were trapped. Stuck. If that was true, then there was no escaping your attacker, Anthony’s killer.

A flash of white movement in the woods around the campfire made you go rigid. Your head snapped to the side, and the girl in front of you fell silent. “What is it?” She asked worriedly, and you knew he was there. Watching you. You could feel it. Your eyes welled up with tears.

He was with you, forever. You weren’t the one haunting him anymore, it was him haunting you. Your head pounded, and you could just imagine him laughing, smug at your misfortune. 

You could feel the phantom ghost of his knife in your stomach. On your arm. See Anthony’s glassy eyes, the fear you’d felt, the raw need to escape and flee. The terror when you’d been caught. The implications of him raping you. As the girl kept talking timidly, you were only half-listening. Endless cycle of trials where you had to try and escape by repairing five generators. A killer would hunt you down in each trial, never more than one at once. They had to kill you before you could leave. Their goal was to sacrifice you to said powerful entity.

If you were as trapped as they said you were, then that meant—no. You didn’t want to think about that, think about what he would do to you and make you do with all of that power. 

Why did you have to take the damn night shift?!


End file.
